A Study in Black
by Sherlockmoustache
Summary: This is a story about a man. A detective, to be exact. The greatest detective in the world who grapples with his own turmoil.


Chapter 1:

Memories are captured periods of time. At least, for me it is. I'm not much of a storyteller but what I can share is how I first encountered him.

I was brought to a chemical laboratory one afternoon to meet a fellow who appeared to be in search for lodging. As our mutual acquaintance, Sir Thomas, and I had entered, he was inspecting a cadaver of an adult male in a large white coat. Our acquaintance had recommended a space on Baker St. - 221b Baker St. to be exact.

"It must have been quite the transition being discharged for your injury, hasn't it?"

Baffled by his deduction, I could not make a sound. Without hesitation, he continued, "Your body's damage appears to be caused by sudden waves of concussive force from bombs. The only major war that has been actively using bombs is currently taking place is in Afghanistan."

His knowledge had no flaws. The way he knew so much from the slightest glance impressed me beyond anything I had ever seen. My experience of the war had no bounds - I had been damaged in several instances but my memory never faded or got lost. I saw the sudden deaths of our soldiers and the joys of reunification with families. I stored all this memory in my internal hard drive since they were so precious to me, both the good and the bad.

His inspection of the dead cadaver continued and I remained intrigued by his curiosity and unique demeanor. He scanned _every_ inch and detail of this body. Beneath his piercing stare, a smirk appeared.

"When is the apartment ready to move-in?"

"Today, if need be. I will be sure to let the landlady know that you have agreed to live there", Sir Thomas said reassuringly.

"Alright then. Today it is. I will be there at 5. No later, no sooner." There was an indifference in his voice. His tall posture never relaxed in all his moving around. Remarkable to say the least.

"What are you doing with that body?"

"I am appreciating this specimen and his dedication to science. It's such a meaningful way to die." His warm hand caressed the delicate frozen skin of the male across his inner thigh.

Still observing this interaction, I could feel the honesty in his answers. No regret. No shame. Pure honesty.

The telephone on the stand across the room rang abruptly. He picked up the receiver, held it against his ear and crouched to face the mouth piece.

"Hello?... Yes… Yes… Yes… Thank you."

He stood back up to his normal stance and without hesitation, wrapped his arm around me and took me with him into the streets of the large city leaving the frozen cadaver and Sir Thomas behind. The lights on each street corner illuminated in the midst of dust and darkness from the night sky. He whistled for a cabbie's attention and waved his hand to make his presence known. A cab stopped in front of him and with ease, he stepped through the door. He tapped the roof of the cab and said, "221 Baker St." Patiently waiting, he stared out the window stuck in thought. I checked my clock. It was 4:56pm.

The day had begun to accelerate without warning and my head spun as fast as it could to absorb all the detail occurring at once. I began rolling.

* * *

Chapter 2:

"You must be Mr. Holmes! Very nice to meet you. My name is Mr. Hudson, I am the landlord of this complex. Why don't you come inside?"

Mr. Hudson had a fitted light blue button shirt and slim fitted navy blue pants. His freshly shaved face and powerful cologne accentuated his deep brown eyes and his dark complexion. As Sherlock and I entered the main entrance into the apartment, Mr. Hudson wrapped his arm around Sherlock's lower waist to guide him through the door.

"This is not such a bad place. It will do."

"Wonderful! Take a look at the rest of the space. My personal favorite is the bedroom. So much potential can be done in there". Mr. Hudson turned the other way and walked into the kitchen of the apartment. "Could I interest you in some tea?"

"Yes, Earl Grey. As I recall, this apartment costs £700 with an additional security deposit, correct?" Sherlock began flipping through his wallet and whispering numbers as he counted his money, bill by bill.

"Oh no. No need to worry about that now. You have probably had a long and rough day. Why don't you rest up and we can talk about the details later. My partner is arriving soon and I have yet to finish making his dinner. Let's discuss this tomorrow morning. Feel free to give me a ring or knock on my door if there is any trouble at all." Mr. Hudson set down the tea on the kitchen counter and closed the apartment door as he walked towards the stairs.

I had appreciated the kindness of Mr Hudson. He was attentive to Sherlock while I laid around observing the interaction between the two. It was getting late and we decided it would be wise for Sherlock to lay out his sheets and get ready for an early rest.

* * *

Chapter 3:

There was a slight release of pressure from the mattress as I noticed a figure rising from the bed. 1:22am. The time shined across the room with its neon green light. Perhaps Sherlock needed some fresh air, I thought. He quietly walked across the room and left the apartment without a sound. I heard the stairs' squeal revealing his every step. There was a sudden echo of knuckles against a wall. Then another. A voice appeared - it grew louder, bouncing its vibrations into my mind.

"Is everything alright?..."

"..."

"Sherlock. What are you doing? Do you know what time it is? Let's talk about this tomorrow. I need to rest."

"..." Sherlock's responses were as silent as a mouse hiding from its predator.

"Stop this. Have you had a drink? Why are you acting like this?"

Sherlock's voice grew louder - aggressive. "Just for tonight. I saw the way you looked at me. Just this once."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was just being welco..."

The voices went silent. Squeals emerged, followed by sighs, followed by whimpers.

The sounds grew louder and as I was perched on a nightstand next to the bed, Mr. Hudson and Sherlock appeared. Completely oblivious to my presence, Sherlock pushed Mr. Hudson onto the bed. Sherlock's dark silhouette stared down onto the laying figure. The depth of his eyes penetrated the darkness of the night and cast a spell of lust in the atmosphere.

"I don't think this is a good idea. I sh…" Sherlock grasped Mr. Hudson's lips as they attempted to speak, silencing his worry all together and replacing it with desire. Sherlock grabbed the end of his silk red shirt and slid it up over his head, slowly revealing the contours of his muscles. He placed his knee in between Mr. Hudson's leg followed by the other until their thighs caressed each other. Sherlock confidently crouched over the laying body while Mr. Hudson's breathing got heavier.

"Is this alright with you?" Mr. Hudson, with his eyes closed, made a soft nod. His wet mouth opened as if he wanted to speak but no sound developed. Without hesitation Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned forward until their lips met. His right hand wrapped around Mr. Hudson's thick hair while his left arm slid into the lower back area, pushing their bodies closer together. Mr. Hudson flipped Sherlock into his backside and continued to press his lips against the sultry pink skin of his partners'.

Their bodies moved in perfect synchrony as they followed each other's lead. Together they began undressing the other, clothing by clothing. Rapidly and swiftly, their hands and bodies moved free with no bounds. As Sherlock took the lead, he took slight pauses, as if wanting to capture every detail of Mr. Hudson's delicate body.

"Is this good?" Sherlock's continuous whispers brought Mr. Hudson back into the moment. He hummed in agreement.

The moment of pure physical primitive sensations and a blank mind with no thoughts. Time and place were irrelevant because for just one night, they were together. For just one night, they could hold each other's hand and everything would be okay.

* * *

Chapter 4:

Sherlock spent some time in the shower the next morning as he grappled with the intensity of that night. His usual charisma faltered in every conversation with his prospective clients. Sherlock ran countless errands back and forth from his apartment increasing his presence with noise every time he walked passed Mr. Hudson's apartment. Everyday, he would set time aside in the morning to plan what he would wear as if he were preparing for a photo shoot. He slept at odd hours, and barely at all.

He remembered Mr. Hudson's words on the letter he left later that night. " _It definitely resolved a bigger question in my head."_

Sherlock, with his tremendous brilliance, could not decode even the slightest interpretation of those words. Pacing back and force during the day, tossing and turning in bed at night, Sherlock was losing interest in all crime, rejecting his clients for the simplest of reasons. I was never invited to tag along anymore. Our connection began fading.

A few days later, a man familiar to Sherlock barged through the door.

"Not now, Lestrade. I'm not in the mood for your lack of ability in solving crimes." Sherlock's face grew serious.

The man I took to be Lestrade appeared to be a detective for the New Scotland Yard. He and Sherlock had been well acquainted for several years and has since depended on Sherlock's magnificent powers of observation as a "consulting detective". I recall Sherlock mentioning such a profession but I had never been able to see his intellectual prowess to it's highest degree.

"But you already know the severity of this mystery. It is of national importance and I do hope we can discuss this in private without _potential eavesdroppers_."

"Fine. Make it quick. You know anything and anyone I have within my space must have some level of my trust. Go ahead and share. Why is this person's murder so significant? Or should we head to Westminster in that cab you have waiting downstairs?" As Sherlock said _we_ , I felt his hand wrap around me. A warm instinctive touch heating the coldness from my body.

"Here you are, treating me like a buffoon when this is a serious matter."

"Now, Lestrade, please amuse me for I have not been quite myself lately. I've encountered some setbacks while my stay here. I could see that your shoes are moist and the sides have slight shades of green and brown which are common in London's gardens. However, your clothes are new. So perhaps it is a special occasion, or you met with someone important. I assume the latter. So what grassy areas near important figures related to national security exist? Green Park, Buckingham Palace, of course. Westminster."

"If you put it like that, you make this whole scandal seem obvious." Lestrade's voice weakened as he rubbed the back of his neck.

We rode to the into the West End, submerging into the emerald heart of the garden. I noticed Sherlock's dress shoes rub and moisten into a subtle lime green into a more obscure area. Lianas falling from the sky blocked the rays from the radiant sunlight. As we wandered through the endless green and brown vines, we encountered a small wooden cottage. The mahogany wood appeared fresh as if it were just built. Sherlock took a pause as he took sight of the estate, Sherlock walked towards the newly discovered home and analyzed the wood, the dirt on the ground, the surroundings, and any other features overlooked by the common eye.

"Thank you for not letting your inadequate inspection team take a first look." Sherlock let himself into the door without hesitation as if it were his own home.

Immediately everyone who followed Sherlock into the cottage covered their nose in response to the odor in the air. The floor had a trail of crimson across the floor and into the bathtub of the lavatory. A woman dressed in formal attire lay facing the ceiling with eyes wide open in shock. The potent red penetrated her cream-colored chiffon shirt and darkened her high waisted knee length black pencil skirt. Her hand lay rested on the edge of the bathtub and against the lightness of the wood. Above her fingers lay a set of letters dripping with the scarlet of her veins. R-A-C-H-E.

"What do you think this means?", Lestrade said as he tightened his eyes and raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not so sure."

Lestrade tilted his head as he heard Sherlock's response. "I took a risk bringing the world's _only_ AND _greatest_ detective here and you can't even give me a definitive answer?!" His ears burned as he radiated exasperation.

"I've just had a lot of things on my mind late-… I don't really understand it." Sherlock grabbed me, as usual, as he ran back to the cab without a single glance back.

* * *

Chapter 5:

We stopped by the closest pub and sat at the bar for a while.

"It must have been a rough day if this is your third beer in less than an hour." A tall lean male stood leaning against the counter with an Old Fashioned in his hand and a smile on his face.

Sherlock looked up with furrowed brows. "Excuse me?"

"You have 2 empty bottles near you and I smell the richness of the barley and yeast in this craft brand. Simple deduction."

"You don't have to talk to me about the science of deduction. I am a consulting detective, after all. I help other solve their crimes or whatever mysteries they can't figure out on their own."

"Really now? Are you that good?" The tall man said, complimenting his smirk with his raised eyebrow.

"Yes. I can make deductions about you by just looking at you."

"Try it. I'd love to see it in action." The man leaned closer as if Sherlock's words held the most sacred secrets.

"I can see that based on your posture and need for support on the counter, you refrain from standing for large periods of time, which suggests your legs have sustained an injury in the past. The thickness and dryness of your hands tells me you moved through hard temperatures and dealt with rough surfaces, mostly rocks and sand, so you spent some time in the desert. The casualness of your attire and the relaxed demeanor of your attitude shows you have experienced rough times and seen harsh tragedies but have a positive outlook. How am I doing so far? And let me guess, your name is Jack."

The tall man chuckled. "You didn't quite get everything right but I must say, I am impressed. Could I buy you another drink? You seem to have finished yours. I have too. Let's hang out for a bit." He pinched the tip of the cherry stem from his Old Fashioned and slowly separated the stem from the fruit with his teeth.

Time passed and I stood next to Sherlock the entire time, keeping tabs on Sherlock and noting anything suspicious Sherlock _may_ have missed.

"I'm really enjoying my time with you. How about we take this somewhere else? Say, I'll grab my things, and we could head over to your place, if you're alright with that of course."

Sherlock said in his most sober voice. "I think that will work."

"Are you going to take _that_ with you?" I could feel his finger point to my direction. I stared blankly at him.

"Yes, this is my companion. We haven't had much time together but I value their contributions to my life." I could feel Sherlock's fingers wrap around me once more.

"That's one way to describe a camera, but I appreciate your loyalty." We walked across the streets of London until we reached our residency.

"Well, this is my place. 221 Baker St. You'd do best remembering it. I think I'm going to bed now but I hope we can continue this another time. I'd love to have a momentum of this interaction, perhaps a photo?"

"I suppose. I was not prepared for this but if you insist. I'd like nothing better than to make you smile." Sherlock face flushed with flames. I took a photo and let him sign it.

"John, is it? I was close."

"Yes, you were. John Watson, it's a pleasure to meet you." John crouched his shoulder and gave Sherlock a kiss on the forehead.

"You gave me a wonderful idea. I think I will make my records into an exhibit."

"That sounds like a great idea. And I have the perfect name for it: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. It has a nice ring to it. I believe people should know of your talent. I want to see your magnificence and share your accomplishments with the world. You deserve nothing less." John whispered these words into Sherlock's ear.

"I want it to capture the moments I don't have space for in my head. It will be a study that absorbs all colors of emotion, feeling, and sexuality. A study in black."

Sherlock solved the mystery with the woman and went on to continue many more adventures. I am not sure what is to come but I can assure I will be enjoying figuring it out.


End file.
